


Marry Me

by foxtarte



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reverse Falls, Arranged Marriage, Depression, Gender Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-10 15:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtarte/pseuds/foxtarte
Summary: A WillDip songfic I'll be working on over the course of a few weeks and months.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A WillDip songfic I'll be working on over the course of a few weeks and months.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What beautiful things I'll wear  
> What beautiful dresses and hair  
> I'm lucky to share his bed  
> So why do I wish I was.."
> 
> A seemingly dark and Victorian inspired WillDip songfic written by your's truly. Subtly inspired by Emilie Autumn's song 'Marry Me' this story is told from the point of view of 21 year old William Cipher, a young man forced by his family to play the fairly believable role of a daughter, sister, and woman. 
> 
> This story contains mentions of non-con, main character self-harm, mention of abuse, and some slow-burn
> 
> <3

"Marry me," he said with endless force and desperation in his voice. The words escaping his lips as if ultimately forced to do such a thing. His hands were shaking with anxious nervousness and his ice blue eyes held a sense of superiority stemming from childhood.

The rich brunette took my hands into his with a subtle gentleness, as if this wasn't something he didn't wish to do.

Mason Gleeful, a man of wealth asking for  _my_   hand in marriage despite a betrothal already set in stone by our parents. A cruel thing for two lonely adults still considered young by technicality.

If loneliness is cured by madness dwelling arranged marriages then I'd rather slit my pale wrists and watch the roses gather on my ballroom floor the day of my 'wedding'. A day intended for romance and love, endless promises and purity dressed in gentle white.

My wedding would feel like a cruel funeral arranged by my dastardly father and brother, choking me with sorrows and falsities. A day of death, death of my innocence and happiness.

If I truly had the option to avoid this hateful man's stare and his equally as hateful family I'd run. Run so endlessly far from this damned place disguised with riches in blue and silver and gold.

_An option I will never be able to touch.._


	2. Desperation

My frail hands subconsciously reach out, dainty fingers placing themselves against the glass as if yearning silently for freedom from my room. My eyes hazily gaze out the glass fogged by my breath and his. Only moments prior had he stripped my soft skin bare to be exposed to him alone.

Only he has the choice to tear away my childish purity, something most women my age hold close to them. Alas, I'm not a woman, but a young man. At least, in my eyes I wish to appear so. My brother has only forced my to fill the role of a woman despite my sex, going great lengths to force me into the role of a younger sister. Such actions joint enforced by my dastardly parents.

Women nowadays are easier to manipulate. Easier to shape and mold to one's will, harm as they so choose. And if a man were to lose such ability to control a woman or simply found distaste or disinterest in her he would easily be allowed to slap a label on her considering her purely mad. 

Madness is an easily given label, given solely by men it seems. Although I've heard the women down nearest the square whilst doing their daily shopping uttering hateful words about my sister in law.

 _'She has that mad glint of murder in her eyes,'_ They'd say.

 _'Not much different from her usual gaze, neither,'_ One would agree with the other.

I find a sense of comfort in her gaze. One that seems less unsettling than my husband's. The women don't notice it, scowling at me in purest jealousy. 

They hate me for the role I play.

They hate me for living with  _him._

_They hate me for being his wife, and them not.  
_

How ironic, a fact. I wish they could take my role from me and spare me mercy from this disgusting life I'm being forced to live. Perhaps if I lived in a different life I wouldn't sit up at night restless with a candle. The wax harming my already sensitive wounds gracing my thighs as I daze off at the walls that are decorated with torn wallpaper. This spare room my 'husband' has stuffed me in is muggy and smells of sex and tears.

 I wish to be free of this Hell. Perhaps would I fair better in the wild and away from him just as an animal would do better than be held in permanent captivity. It's not as though the label of 'animal' is unfamiliar to me.


End file.
